


Sharing Showers

by LiberAmans214



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel Wearing Dean Winchester's Clothes, Castiel is so pretty, Castiel's Nickname is Cas (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester Drabble(s), Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean is a Disaster Bi, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Fluff, Floormates, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Sam Knows, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam and Dean are roommates, Showers, and is so bad at dealing with Cas, destiel crack, it isn't mentioned but I think Cas has a huge-ass crush on dean too uwu, that Dean cannot deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 21:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberAmans214/pseuds/LiberAmans214
Summary: Balthazar arranges for some repair works in his apartment, and a fresh-from-his-run Castiel shows up at Dean's door, awkwardly asking if he could use his shower. And while Dean sits in his living room, trying not to think of Castiel showering naked in his bathroom, Castiel yells for him.





	Sharing Showers

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Inspired: "My shower isn't working, can I use yours?"

It’s been _one_ hour since Dean’s gotten up, and the day already sucks.

Things had been fine till all the noise started. It was eleven, on a Sunday morning, and he had been contentedly sitting on his couch, watching Queer Eye as he had his breakfast of milk, cereal and beer, as one does, and wondering about Sammy’s whereabouts, even while he prepared punny punchlines for the latter’s _inevitable_ walk of shame - whenthe drilling had begun.

And Dean _didn’t_ like disturbing loud noises - not so early on weekends, and not ever.

Obviously some sort of construction work, or maintenance was happening at the apartment across the hall from his. Dean’s brain registered it immediately as the one with the ridiculously cute Lit. Major, _Cas-_something, and his friend (well, Dean hoped, though they did seem _pretty_ close).

Dean didn’t know those two very well, because they’d only just moved in like a month ago - which could’ve made the drilling sorta suspicion-worthy, if their apartment building had had any good reputation at all. Dean had had his midterms then, so he hadn’t gotten to know them much - though Sam had told him, from when he went to the mixer they threw like a fortnight ago, that they seemed like good people.

Dean’s interactions had thus been pretty limited with Cas - Sam had only remembered that much of his name, for the stupid giant head he has, and Dean couldn’t even be sure that it was _correct_, they’d never conversed so he’d never had a chance to use it - but that’s what he calls him when he thinks of him in his head.

And he _does_. He knows Cas studies Literature, because he’s seen him with Professor Moseley. And he knows Cas liked honey, because his friend, Balthazar had come to ask if they had any, because ‘his roommate needed it, and was too anxious to initiate social interactions’, Dean remembers, in a sarcastic accented drawl. And he knows that Cas runs in the mornings, and that he -

There’s a knock at his door, which brings him out of his reverie. He sets down his tray, and went to open the door, expecting Sam - silently regretting using some of the last minutes thinking about his gorgeous neighbors, instead of what all he’d say to get Sam all riled up, when he showed up in last evening’s clothes.

But it isn’t Sam. It’s Cas - or, to play on the safer side, Dean was going to pretend he didn’t know his name at all; that would be better than to call him by the wrong name because what kind of asshole does that?

“Hello!” From the other side of the door, Cas - _or whatever the fuck his name is, Dean keeps calling him Cas, because he has been doing it in his head, for a month now_ \- breathes out, in a beautiful goddamn baritone. He’s looking straight at Dean with unbelievably blue eyes, and Dean’s never stood this close to him, in actual _reality_ before.

So, undoubtedly, he is too busy gawking at Cas, to respond to the greeting - but he can’t be blamed. Cas is breathless, and sweaty - from the way his fitted grey tshirt sticks to all the right places, and how sweat glistens on his forehead and plasters his black hair to his head. If Dean had ever been able to get Sam’s nagging, 'You’re confusing reality with porn again’ out of his head, his brain could’ve conjured up some really interesting scenarios.

He stands in front of Dean, dressed in only a tshirt and what are clearly running shorts, and suddenly Dean’s aware of the fact that he’s wearing flannel pajamas, which are also _Sam’s_, if that isn’t embarrassing enough by itself - since he didn’t wanna do laundry, and which are _hatefully_ too big for him - a white shirt that has Donald Duck on it, and his fucking heart on his sleeve.

“Uh.” He begins, eloquent as ever. “Hey there.”

“Do you,” Cas’s lips twist into some sort of a frown. “Think I could come inside?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Dean mutters, making way for him to enter. The passage is wide enough for there to be zero contact between them, as Cas shuffles inside and Dean reaches forward to shut the door and lock it behind him - and for the first time, Dean wishes he lived in a skimpier apartment. “What’s up, dude?” Dean asks, trying to get a hold of himself, as he stares at Cas tentatively, waiting for him to make the next move, as he tries to figure out how to keep looking at him before coming off as creepy. _As one does_.

“I - _well_, I -” He begins, and then stops abruptly, holding his hand out to Dean. “I’m Castiel, by the way, and I live across you.”

Dean nods, wetting his lips, as he shook his hand. “I, uh, know.” He says, uncertainly. And then realizing he hasn’t introduced himself either, he hurriedly adds. “And I’m Dean. I live across you, _too_.”

Castiel smiles at him, in spite of the lame joke, and Dean is grateful, because he was about to start looking for a hole to bury himself in. Then, _Castiel_ starts speaking too, and Dean shifts his focus between his words and the way his voice sounds, to keep up. “As I guess you’ve probably _heard_, Balthazar is getting some repairs done at our place. I didn’t know it was today until right about _now_, but this thing might take time. Shelves to be made, showers to be fixed, fire alarms which actually _work_ to be installed -” Dean snorts at that, then is instantly appalled at himself, because that’s the most unattractive way he could laugh, _fucking get your act together, Winchester_. “And so on. I’m sorry on both our behalf, because the noise must be disturbing, and -”

“Nah, nevermind.” Dean interrupts. “It’s not a big deal.” What else is he supposed to say? 'I wanna kill myself because of it, so please don’t need a new shelf, ever again?’ Pfft.

“You’re very understanding,” Castiel smiles once again, and it’s a polite one - and Dean is suddenly hit by the realization that _that_ is perhaps what Castiel is here for. To be polite and curtesical about the fact that they’re disturbing the whole building. Not because he wants to have anything to do with Dean - perhaps he did this with everyone on all the floors, and gave compensation-cookies, but then ran out of them before he came to Dean, but didn’t think Dean was worth that much of an effort.

Dean’s subconscious does make an effort to put a pause to the annoying workings of his mind, but as always, the other side triumphed. And then Dean stands there, feeling ridiculous about himself having internally made such a big deal of something like this.

But then, Castiel start speaking again. “And, I know this is such an idiotic favor to ask for -” So there _is_ more, thinks Dean. “And you are allowed to turn me down, okay?”

“Ask away, dude,” Dean tells him. _I’d literally bend over on the centerpiece for you, if you asked nicely_, he doesn’t say, because. Well. Boundaries and crap.

Castiel seems to be gathering his words.

Dean wonders what it could be.

He hasn’t wondered far, when Castiel finally lets it out. “I - I just came from my run, and I really think I need to shower. And _my_ shower isn’t working, could I use yours?”

Dean is stunned. He didn’t think things like this we’re supposed to happen in actual frigging reality. Castiel - the _totally_ hot dude from across the hallway was asking to take a shower in his apartment. Dean’s brain was practically stuttering, at this point.

“Dean?” Castiel echoes.

Dean’s brain goes around the roundabout, and starts to take the route back to a safer place. It’s obviously not like Castiel is going to be in the shower, and then asking Dean to _join. _That, now that would be something that would _honestly_throw him off. But this is cool, right? The guy has a _reason_. (And no porn has such legitimate explanations, okay?) So perhaps Dean should go looking for his brain in the gutters, and _respond_.

“Yeah. Uh, sorry about that.” He shrugs, and then nods. “You know what? Sure. You can. I mean, why would I say no, you know?”

Castiel blinked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Dean nods, way surer _now_ that Castiel looks insecure of ever asking. And Castiel gives him a small smile. “Thank you.”

A moment passes, and they’re simply looking at each other, and Dean is obviously trying to alternate gazes between his eyes, and his lips. Then suddenly, Castiel clears his throat, and raises his eyebrows with a slight tilt of his head and Dean returns to the present.

“_Right!_” He swallows. “Right now. Okay, yeah, _okay_.” He doesn’t really know what to do for a moment there, but then he looks at Castiel, who’s sporting an absolutely adorable gummy smile.

“You do know you don’t have to _do_ anything, right?” He supplies, somehow reading the tension in his body. “Just, uh, direct me towards your bathroom, please.”

And Dean’s brain stops short on the verge of short-circuiting - he doesn’t _know_why, okay!? - and he just nods. “Yeah, uh. Sure. That’s smart. It’s this way.”

When Dean has shown Castiel to the bathroom - the one attached to _his_bedroom, and not Sam’s - he instantly fetches a towel for him, too. Kind of a 'I’m not always as slow as I just was in the living room’ gesture, and Castiel accepts it with a smile. “Thank you, again.”

“It’s not an issue, seriously,” Dean promises, still hovering, even though he’s shown Castiel to the bathroom and handed him the best towel he owns. “Oh, right.” Dean suddenly steps into the bathroom, remembering - Castiel follows him in, like he’s obviously supposed to, but now it’s just the two of them in that confined white-tiled space, and Dean’s mouth feels dry. “About the, uh, thingy? Contrary to what you may infer from the symbols, left is hot, and right is cold. We actually installed it wrong.”

“Oh,” Castiel takes it easily. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Yeah.” Dean checks himself, and then the space around him, and is sure he’s done all he can do - to help Castiel, to embarrass himself, etcetera - and he takes his leave. “I’ll, uh, go now. Enjoy, I guess.”

And he hears a bit of a chuckle behind him, as he practically rushes out of his bedroom and back to the living room, where he sits with his legs folded on the couch, and screws his eyes shut - trying to focus all his energy on going back to a happier timr, where he _hadn’t_ said 'enjoy’ to Castiel, before leaving him in a fucking _bathroom_.

*

Dean tries to not think about it - he _really_ does. He tries not to listen to Cas _showering_, and tries not to hear Castiel’s almost-mute (maybe non-existent) humming, and he tries so frigging hard to not imagine a very naked Castiel in his shower. Or what he might be doing, and - OH, that is _another_ level of gross, even for him.

And because the world is so fair to him, he manages to stop thinking about it - for _one_ goddamn moment, before he’s now thinking of worse things. Like all the kinds of things there are in his bathroom. Fuck, there’s probably some gross hair in the drain from when he shampooed a few days earlier. There’s that one crack in the tiles, where Dean had fallen - one very, _very_ complicated afternoon. And, Jesus fucking Christ, there was _lube_ on some rack somewhere.

As Dean sits on the couch by himself, regretting all of his life choices all at once, and wondering how much easier it would be if he flees to Alaska for the rest of the time Castiel is at Stanford - he tries to tune out the sounds of the water to the backdrop of Queer Eye - and all the drilling, obviously, but he still notices when the water is turned off.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, if he’s being honest, but it feels a lot longer. Sighing, Dean throws his head back against the couch, and rubs the palms of his hands against his eyes -

And that’s when Castiel yells for him.

Dean is thrown off at first, but then he’s rushing, because why the hell would Castiel be asking for him now - when he’s clearly _just_ finished showering - if it wasn’t something important.

So Dean crosses the living room with large steps, and is going into his bedroom when he sees Castiel, standing in the doorway of the bathroom - _completely_naked, except for the towel around his waist.

If Dean had thought he’d been having trouble looking away before, well, he certainly had no chance against _this_. Castiel’s arms were a feast for his eyes - his fucking biceps would’ve been as big as Dean’s, easily. His entire torso was lean and muscled, and his shoulders combined with his pecs were something that would certainly feed Dean’s fantasies for a _long_, long time. And all the running had certainly paid off, because he had these beautiful fucking calves, and all his -

Shit. Dean is extremely _not_ okay, when it comes to this guy. He needs to _stop_.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice hits him with a jolt, and Dean’s eyes turn up to Castiel’s - wishing with all his heart, that he had _not_ caught him checking him out. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” He blinks. What had he done? Wait, did he somehow break his shower, because Dean kind of had feelings for that shit.

“I need to ask another favor of you,” Castiel looks truly apologetic, like it pains him as much to be asking Dean to do this - as it pains Dean to not go back to staring at him. “And this one is all sorts of dumb, but I -”

“What do you need?” Dean cuts him off; the apologising routine was cumbersome.

“My clothes, from my apartment. Mine are drenched from the run.” He emphasizes. “And I was about to go get a towel and a change of clothes before, but then you handed me that towel, and I was too distracted - I mean, I wasn’t _thinking_ of it then, and Dean - I obviously need clothes.” With his jaw fucking dropped, Dean waits for him to finish. “And I don’t think I should go into my apartment like this,” He looks down at himself. “There’s other people _working_there.”

Some part of Dean wants to hang onto the part, which hints that Castiel is fine being this way in front of Dean - but not in front of those workers, but then he instantly realizes that’s dumb and nothing romantic at all. There is no comparison.

“Dean.” And now, he’s giving him a full on puppy stare. Sam-level. “Would you please -”

“Wait.” Dean hears himself speaking, though he’s almost sure he’s not thinking those things through. “That’s not smart. I wouldn’t know where your stuff is, and I’m not going to pick out pants and shirts for you. It would be easier if you just wore something of mine. We’re _basically_ the same size.” And this time, Dean has somewhat of an excuse to space another glance to Castiel’s naked upper-body.

“But,” Castiel looks like he might try to protest, but then he doesn’t. “I do think that is the smarter option. I just hope you don’t mind.”

_It’s better than me playing dress-up on you_, Dean thinks. 'There’s no way I’d survive looking at your wardrobe, even.’ But he keeps it to himself. “I don’t. You can, uh.” He leans in and slides open one door. “Pick anything from here.”

“Okay.” Castiel swallows. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah.” And it comes out a little bit strangled, because now Dean has another thing that makes him feel suffocated, but in all the best ways. Castiel, in his clothes. And also because he’s still staring at him, a little bit.

“Thank you for everything, Dean.” Castiel sighs, and Dean - for a fleeting second - imagines that he’s gonna get a hug but then it’s like they both remember in the same instant that Castiel doesn’t have clothes on.

Now _that_ would’ve been a surefire way for Dean to have finally gotten the attack he’s been on the verge of, since the moment there was a knock on his door.

*

Almost an hour later, Sam stumbles back in. He might be in last night’s clothes, but he looks tardy in the 'all-night-group-study’ sense, and not the fun sense - and Dean wouldn’t put it past his geek of a brother.

But Sam comes in to find Dean has a guest over from across the hallway - and the_-Cas-_guyis wearing Dean’s AC/DC shirt (or maybe Sam’s just sleepy) and they’re having grilled cheese while sitting too close on the couch, as they watch Queer Eye.

(Dean fills him in later, that because Dean had kinda helped Cas out that day, he says with a bit of a blush, Cas had offered to make him breakfast to repay him; but Sam knows that’s Dean’s cereal bowl in the sink, but he can easily imagine how Dean must have leaped at the the offer of a second breakfast, as long as Cas, the cute guy Dean hundred-percent has a crush on, offered to make it - and in turn, stayed some more.)

*

**Author's Note:**

> Well, now, it's been three hours since Dean woke up, and now he's having grilled cheese with his dreamy neighbor, who's also wearing clothes that are very much his, and seems to be as into QE as Dean is, and his day doesn't suck so bad anymore. In fact, this might turn to be one of his *luckiest* days ever.


End file.
